and the wolves will come to take you home
by purinsesu-sereniti
Summary: AU: set ten years after the stark's leave winterfell, jon has been crowned king in the north, and sansa is queen of the seven kingdoms after marrying joffrey. when jon comes to king's landing, something is born between the two half siblings, something stronger than either of them have ever felt before. rated m for future content.


He's not seen her in nearly ten years.

Despite how long it's been, he can still recall the glimmer of her smile in the morning sunlight, that day she left. He can still remember the pure happiness that lit her up from the inside out. It's been ten years, but he still remembers.

The King in the North isn't quite certain how he's gotten himself here. Well, that's not true, he supposes, he knows what's brought him here. He's been summoned by King Joffrey (ordered more like it) because of the crown he had accepted just a few weeks before. With the help of the free folk he had befriended during his years with the Night's Watch, Jon had reclaimed Winterfell in the name of House Stark from the Bolton's. And though his last name was Snow, the Northern lords named him their king. He knows it belongs to Sansa, the oldest surviving child of Ned Stark, but his letter to her had gone unanswered. That had left him with little choice but to accept the crown offered to him. He wouldn't let the North fall into usurper's hands ever again.

"Your grace?"

He turns, it's Ser Davos, the man he calls his Hand, an unlikely ally he found in Stannis Baratheon's once most loyal man. "Are we close?" Jon asks, gesturing towards the Red Keep just there in the distance. The streets as busy as they ride through, though many stop to gawk at the black clad king in his furs.

"The archway just here leads right to the Keep," Davos replies, pointing to the stone arch some yards ahead. Etched into the stone is a Lannister lion and a Stark wolf, which Jon finds amusing, considering Joffrey was a Baratheon. It just proved how much control that Lannister witch and her family had over the king and his court. "I'm certain the Lannister's will be waiting for your arrival." Jon smirks and kicks his horse into a faster pace, suddenly quite eager to dismount and find his sister.

Just as Davos had predicted, the three Lannister siblings stood in a semi circle at the top of the stone stairs, just outside the double doors that would lead inside the Keep. Jon squints as he slows his horse to a stop at the base of the steps, looking up at the golden siblings standinmg just above him. Tyrion Lannister was as he had been when Jon had met him all those years ago, though with a few new scars on his ugly face. Jaime Lannister was still a handsome lion of a man, though his golden hair had been cropped short and he sports a beard. Then there's Cersei, the king's mother, with her green eyes and long, golden hair, he supposes she's a beautiful woman, but not really his taste. She wears a blue gown with sweeping sleeves and gold thread running through the length of the skirt. The elabortate head piece she wears is more like a crown and Jon wonders if Joffrey is even king at all.

"Welcome to King's Landing, my lord." Cersei is the first to speak, descending a single step, skirts trailing behind her. Her pointed use of _my lord_ makes Jon chuckle and beside him, Davos prickles. "I hope your journey was a pleasant one." Anyone who traveled the road between King's Landing and Winterfell knew it was a long, hard one.

"It was well enough, thank you." Jon replies, putting a hand in front of Davos to keep him from interrupting.

They're led up the steps and into the Keep, a massive place that's well lit with a golden glow. The Lannister's are quite rich, he remembers, and considering the Tyrell's they've married into, their riches have only tripled. He catches sight of a set of doors, doors that surely must lead to the throne room. "This way, Jon Snow," Cersei Lannister's voice brings him back, making him realize he's fallen out of pace with all of the others. "You will meet with the king soon enough," her smile is like that of a serpent and Jon can't help but to shudder. He wonders how his sister has lived with these people all these years, when he can't stand them even for a few minutes.

He's settled into his rooms a few minutes later and Jon can do nothing but pace, now that he's here he feels trapped, he feels like a wolf pacing its cage.

[ x x x ]

"He's here?"

She turns away from the looking glass, eyes seeking out Shae's gentle brown eyes; Shae was the only person in all of the world that she could trust and when she nods, Sansa knows it's time. A strange warmth rushes through her and she swivels back around in her chair to give herself one last look in the mirror. "I can't believe he's here..." She murmurs as she looks into her own reflection, reaching up a hand to touch the soft coil of braids at the back of her head. Though Joffrey prefers when she wears her hair like his mother, she's adopted a style more seen in the North, a style her own mother had worn more than once. Despite living in the world of the Lannister's, she tries to keep her own Northern roots a part of her. Though Cersei Lannister controls how she walks, talks, and dresses, Sansa never takes off the direwolf pendant from around her neck. It hangs low on a silver chain, given to her by her father many years ago.

It's been nearly ten years now since she's last seen anyone in her family- and though back then she might have called Jon her _bastard _brother, now she longs to see him as much as she longed to see any of the others. Not that she could see any of the others, of course. Her mother and father were both dead, Robb was dead, and the youngest ones... Bran, Arya, and Rickon had been missing for several years now. Jon was the only family she had left.

A knock sounds on her door and she flinches, she can't help it. Shae notices and her heart sinks but she calms her anger so she might turn and open the door. It is Jaime Lannister, come to escort Sansa down to the throne room. "It is time to greet our guest," Jaime says as he steps into the room, eyeing his niece with that same green-eyed gaze of his sister. Jaime offers her his arm and Sansa loops her arm with his, her other lifting her long silk skirts as they began to make their way down the hall. "Your bastard brother is every inch a Stark, you know." Jaime says as they go, surprising the young queen. It was true, she recalled how much Jon had looked like a Stark back when they were kids. Such a thing had made it all the more painful for her mother, that her husband's bastard looked more like him than any of his true born sons.

They step into the throne room from the back door and she can see that Joffrey already sits upon his. "Husband," she murmurs when she's let go of Jaime's arm and come around front, dipping her husband a quick curtsy. He waves his hand at her, gesturing for her to sit, and she does so, hyper aware of how quickly her heart has begun to beat. It's always like this, she knows, when she must come face to face with her horrid excuse of a husband. Fear creeps into her heart and settles onto her soul, it's an imprint upon her existence. Though Joffrey did not raise a physical hand to her (his men were there for that) he caused her plenty of pain in other ways.

"I've traded one troublesome Stark brother for another," Joffrey seethes to her as he sits more upright, casting a glare in her direction. "The White Wolf will last about as long as the Young Wolf, I think." He means to insult the memory of Robb, who was called the Young Wolf by all of the North, dead at the hands of the Lannister's order. "And I see you wear a new gown- thinking you might impress your bastard brother?" He asks, his voice scathing, and Sansa keeps her gaze straight ahead. She knows better than to provoke him when he's like this. The last time she'd done such a thing, she'd carried the bruises for weeks. "He'll leave here as Lord Commander or he won't leave at all." He means to continue, but his mother steps up to stand beside his side of the thrones, her gentle touch the only thing able to calm him.

Up ahead, the doors open and she sees him.

He is as she remembers him- wild, dark curls with those solemn Stark colored eyes. What Jaime Lannister had told her was true, he was his father's son without question, he was truly a Stark. Seeing him reminds him of Arya and the pain that rushes through her is so strong she must hold her breath to keep from crying out. Jon approaches the dais and bows low, first to Joffrey and then in turn to her. Their eyes meet as he raises his gaze up and she feels her heart skip a beat. "Welcome to King's Landing," Joffrey says, shifting how he sits upon the Iron Throne, his dark green eyes narrowing slightly as they fall upon the Northern bastard.

Jon cannot believe how beautiful she's become.

Sansa was always lovely- always the prettiest of the Stark children, everyone said so, but now... She had grown into a creature so lovely Jon was certain she could not be real. Her Tully red hair was long, elaborately braided like a Northern queen, with a golden crown upon her head. Her gown mimicked that of the one Cersei wore, with long sweeping sleeves and a sqaure cut neckline that was just low enough to show off the swell of her breasts. Jon starts, realizing these are all thoughts a man should not have about his sister and so he tears his gaze from hers, but feels empty when he does. "Thank you, your grace." Jon says, hoping his voice does not betray the dozens of thoughts and feelings racing through him.

"You know why I've sent for you then?" Joffrey asks, settling back, hands gripping the uncomfortable arms of the chair he's sitting in. He hates the Iron Throne, if he's honest, but it is his all the same. "I am the King of the Seven Kingdoms and yet you dare to name yourself King of one of those kingdoms. You and the North are in open rebellion against me." His tone is dangerous, but his eyes are menacing. It would seem the rumors of this king's madness might not have been just rumors. "It is out of the love I bear my queen that I have not had you murdered in your bed," the king spits out, shaking his golden head. Jon spares Sansa a quick glance and notes the look upon her face- as if she is wearing a mask that is moments from slipping. "Denounce your so called throne and bend the knee to me and we will overlook this little act of rebellion."

Jon returns his gaze to the king and sighs, closing his eyes for one long moment. "No," he finally says when he opens his eyes again. "I cannot do that." He goes on, speaking before Joffrey's anger spilled over. "I was chosen to protect the North and I will do just that." Beside the king, Sansa's face changes, something like relief spreading into her eyes. "I've come for more reason than to challenge you on who rules what kingdom," Jon says, knowing if nothing else, he must do this.

"What else could bring a traitor to his own death?" Joffrey glares at him from where he sits and it is Sansa who looks to him then, her blue eyes full of worry when she hears the tone he speaks in.

"The Night King is coming."

Every pair of eyes in the room focus on the King in the North then, all etched with surprise, some even amusement. It is only Sansa who turns to look at him with true concern, having heard the stories of the white walkers during childhood. Of course, most just said the story of the Night King was just that- a story- but seeing Jon's face made her question those stories. "The Night King?" Joffrey laughs, thinking this to be a distraction from the true problem at hand. "You come all this way to speak of ghost stories?" Behind him, Cersei approaches, a hand once again settling upon the king's shoulder. "No matter, such things can be discussed at another time." Joffrey sits up straighter and Cersei steps back. "I have matters of the realm to attend to, we shall talk again, bastard of Winterfell." He rises up to his feet and offers Sansa his arm, which she takes without a word, rising up to surprise Jon with her height. She is tall and thin like a willow tree and he sees now that her hair is so long that it nearly brushes her waist. She casts him only one backwards glance before she vanishes through the door with Joffrey.

When she's gone, Jon feels cold.

[ x x x ]

"You must speak with him."

Sansa stares into Shae's eyes, hands clutching together in her lap. "He is your brother, he will help you." Shae goes on, reaching out to touch her queen's shoulder. They have been together several years now and Shae knew this could be the only chance at saving Sansa from the misery that was her life in King's Landing. But, Sansa shakes her head, turning around to face the mirror, reaching up to begin pulling pins from her hair.

It's late and they've just returned to her rooms from the main hall, having spent many hours drinking and dancing after the feast. Joffrey had been drunk and stumbled off to his own chambers with his latest mistress, leaving Sansa a night alone. "I can't ask such a thing of him." Is all she says, hands lowering only when Shae's take over. Jon could not save her from her fate- no one could. Sansa had long since given up on her dream of being rescued from the abuse of King's Landing and had rather hardened her heart against it. The people of Westeros called her the Ice Queen, a queen who never smiled, a sad queen. And yet they loved her for it. They cheered her on the streets, they prayed for her in their septs, they adored their Northern born queen more than their bastard born king. Most people knew that their king's birth was questionable, all of his siblings were thought to be born of their own uncle's loins, but there were none alive who were brave enough to question it. Sansa's own father had once tried and had lost his head for it.

When the pins have all been pulled from her hair and she's stripped from her long, heavy gown, a knock sounds on her door. Surprise filters through her and Sansa nods at Shae, giving her permission to open it as she tugs her dressing robe on over her white nightgown. Thinking it will be Joffrey or perhaps a maid with a glass of wine, she bends over the trunk at the end of her bed, rummaging through it for the gown she thinks she might wear tomorrow. "Sansa..." The gown falls from her hands as she slowly rises up, turning around at the sound of her name on his lips. It's the first time in years that she's heard her name spoken in such a way, the way her father had once said it.

"Jon..." She whispers, taking a single step towards him, heart hammering so hard within her chest she thinks surely he must hear it. That is all it takes before he's striding across the room and taking her into his arms, the force of his embrace sweeping her off of her feet. "I can't believe you're here," she whispers into his neck, his arms tight around her waist, hers draped across his shoulders.

He's breathing in the scent of her; rosewater and tears, her hair as soft as he had imagined it to be. Setting her back onto her feet, Jon cannot let her go and so his hands remain at her her hips, the feel of them sharp beneath his palms. She is thin, he realizes, thinner than a noble woman might usually be, and worry rushes through him. Standing here so close to her, he notices things he had not noticed in the throne room and suddenly the urge to smuggle her away returns to him. "I came because the threat of the Night King is real, but also... I wanted to see you." He admits softly, voice raspy, a thread. It's true, they hadn't had the best relationship as kids, but she was the only family he had left. He had to see her.

Across the room, Shae ducks behind a curtain, out of sight, but a chaperone to the queen's good name. She knows what will happen if word got out that a man had visited the queen's rooms, half brother or not. "He won't rest until you give up your crown." She says softly, shaking her vibrant red head, blue eyes finding his. "Not with Cersei in his ear." She worries for him now, making an enemy of the Lannister's. She knows what they can do to people they view as a threat.

"I care little for the crown, it should be yours, anyways." Jon says with a shake of his own head. "It won't matter when the Night King comes. He will kill us all if we don't do something to stop him." In the movements of their embrace, the long chain she wears tucked against her chest has come loose and it hangs over her gown, prompting Jon to reach for it. It's a well made silver direwolf pendant, something Ned Stark had given her for her nameday that summer before they had all left Winterfell. Returning his gaze to hers, Jon smiles, his heart skipping a single beat. When Sansa's lips curve with a smile of her own, Jon feels a warmth rush through his entire being, a feeling quite unlike anything he's ever felt before.

She gestures then for him to sit and she pours him a goblet of ale from the pitcher on her desk. They settle into chairs and they begin to talk; they talk until they laugh, until they cry. They talk about the past and they talk about the present. It isn't until hours before the morning call comes that they part ways, Jon returning to the rooms given to him earlier that day. "Get some sleep," she says as he slips from her rooms and into the darkened hall, unaware of the eyes that watch him go from around another corner.

When she shuts the door behind him, Sansa leans back against the door, her heart racing. She dares not feel happy, but she can't stop the flicker of it from rising up in her body. For the first time in years, she had something to hold onto.

But she was right to be wary, for what good thing would ever truly last?


End file.
